


Sock on the Doorknob

by swedish_furniture



Series: Lust Actually [6]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swedish_furniture/pseuds/swedish_furniture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is sick and tired of Gabriel just leaving his clothing laying around the house- he conducts business in that house after all, he has an image to maintain, and that image does not involve pastel sweaters hanging off his chandelier.</p><p>So he gives Gabriel an ultimatum.  It's not that hard to follow, really, it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sock on the Doorknob

Gabriel never does laundry, never goes shopping, never folds clothing.  Why would he, when all he had to do for an entire new wardrobe was snap his fingers?

Crowley has no problem with however Gabe’s decided to acquire his clothing, except for the fact, that while he will snap his clothing into existence, he will _not_ snap it away once he’s done with it.

He’s a bit tired of walking around his house, only to trip over Gabriel’s style du jour. 

(You see, Gabriel’s wardrobe changes according to his whim, so one day, he might be in biker chic, and the next, he’ll be rocking what was fashionable in colonial times.  Some days, he goes without clothes entirely.)

One thing that Gabriel _always_ sticks with, no matter what kind of clothing he’s decided on, is socks. 

Not just _any_ socks, either.  These are socks that are so brightly colored, they could stop a charging Winchester at fifty paces.  Some of the colors present on Gabriel’s socks don’t even have _names_ , Crowley suspects, because they’ve permanently blinded their creators.

Gabe’s fond of patterns, too.  Polka-dots, striped, abstract squiggles, _flashing neon lights_ , Crowley’s seen them all on the archangel’s feet.

It’s gotten to the point that Crowley can’t even hold business meetings in his house anymore, for fear that they’ll see the socks lying around somewhere.  (No matter _how_ many he picks up, more just seem to pop up out of nowhere, and, knowing Gabriel, he wouldn’t doubt that’s _exactly_ what they’re doing.)

“Darling,” Crowley says calmly to Gabe, “If you _insist_ on leaving your discarded apparel around my home, _I’m_ going to insist on burning them in holy fire.”

Gabriel opens his mouth to retort, but Crowley’s not done speaking.  “And I’m not going to be particular about _who_ goes into that fire, either, angel.”

“You meant ‘what’ right?”

“No.”

After they had their little talk, Crowley stops finding clothing every which way in his home. 

Until he takes a walk past what Gabriel’s claimed as _his_ room.  There’s one, lone sock, wrapped around the doorknob- it’s lime green, with orange polka-dots, and Crowley suspects that the person who created it is probably being tortured in hell right now, just for that sock alone.

Crowley’s given Gabe an ultimatum, though, and that was ‘no more clothing lying around my house’, and that sock is most definitely _not_ a figment of his imagination (no matter how much he _wishes_ it was).  He opens the door and walks in, without knocking (it’s _his damn house_ , why should he knock?)

It takes him a second to process what’s going on, because Gabriel’s on the bed in a tangle of sweat and limbs with three girls and- is that a _goat?_

The goat bleats when Crowley enters the room, and Gabriel looks up, and gives him a lazy, debauched grin.

“Cupcake!  You here for the orgy?” 

(Crowley vaguely remembers a conversation, where Gabriel had informed him, matter-of-factly, that it was _not_ an orgy, unless someone brought a goat.)

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him, and the goat wanders over to nibble at his shirt.  “I wasn’t aware you were having an…orgy, love.”

A knowing glint enters Gabe’s eyes, and his grin widens.  “Oh, come on, man, I had a sock on the doorknob and _everything_!  You _had_ to know that awesome sexy times were going on in here!”

(He must have snapped his fingers without him noticing, because now there’s a fourth girl- and the goat- tugging at his shirt, and the girl’s breathing in his ear that his clothes would look better on the floor, now wouldn’t they?)

“Actually,” Crowley says, with difficulty (he’s a _demon_ , not _dead_ , and the girl’s doing things right now that make him feel very, very _alive_ ), “I came to set you on fire.”

Gabe laughs.  (The girls laugh with him.  The goat looks at everyone in confusion, before turning its attention back to Crowley’s shirt, which, by now, is in a crumpled pile on the floor.)

And the Lord said, ‘Let there be sex’.

And it was _very_ good.

(Even if the goat was kind of overrated, Gabriel admits later.)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternately titled: All Orgies Come Complete With Goat


End file.
